


Solace

by Malinear



Category: Dragon Age
Genre: F/M, Gen, Ostagar and Lothering make me sadface, Pre-Dragon Age 2, why are canon otps doomed to sadness?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-15
Updated: 2012-09-15
Packaged: 2017-11-14 06:17:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,138
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/512209
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Malinear/pseuds/Malinear
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Aveline and Wesley reunite in Lothering just days after the carnage at Ostagar and they have precious little time before the Darkspawn will set them back on the road.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Solace

**Author's Note:**

> Of note would be that the beginning pays a bit of homage to the official Aveline short story by Luke Kristjanson, Focus (found on Bioware's official DA site, under World, Characters, Aveline), hopefully making something of a circular path between it and this fic. I obviously don't own the world or characters, just my interpretation of the events. And seriously people? Why is there no more Wesley love?

Doubt nipped at her heels as they fled Ostagar. Aveline shrugged it aside and ran on.

Casualties had been expected, it was a battle, after all. A sizeable portion of the King's Army as well as support from both the Circle and Grey Wardens had been called together to make a stand against the increasing number of Darkspawn that had been plaguing Ferelden's countryside. Even King Cailan had stepped up to lead the charge. So while casualties were expected, betrayal was not.

Even once they'd realized that the bulk of the force, those troops under Loghain's direct command, weren't coming to their aide, they'd stood their ground. They no longer hoped to see morning, but damned if they weren't going to try to take as many of the foul creatures with them as possible.

But in the end, duty to her Captain and to the few men of her unit that were still standing outweighed the duty to their fallen King. 'Get them out, Aveline,' he'd commanded through gritted teeth as he lie pinned and dying beneath the corpse of one of those monstrous ogres. That much, she had promised him, she would see accomplished. No one else under her protection would die today.

They kept running, stumbling and picking their way through overgrown forests towards Lothering, stopping only when they could run no longer and only long enough to get moving again. Only three men reached the outskirts of the village with her. Three men out of how many thousands that had been preparing for battle only days ago? Caulfield was unconscious on a makeshift litter carried between herself and Murphy long before they approached the Chantry, young Carrick having run ahead to alert the Sisters to their need for medical assistance.

As she stood just out of the way of the makeshift ward that had been set up, a familiar voice cut through the din that their arrival had created, "Maker, woman! You have their blood from head to foot!" Strong arms carefully guided her to one of the pews and she finally turned toward him with a weary, but relieved sigh.

He was in full Templar armor, looking dirty and worn from long days on the road with worry etched into his brow, but he was the best thing Aveline had seen in weeks, "Wesley."

"We met a runner on the road a couple of days back; I was coming to find you." His gauntleted hand gripped hers tightly as he knelt before her, his expression grim from all of the horrors he'd been imagining as he tried to see past all of the grime, "Are you hurt?"

"Nothing serious, no. A scalding hot bath and a bit of sleep would serve me well though." The adrenaline had long since worn off and the last of her reserves had gotten them into town, to safety, to help. To, surprisingly, her husband. His simple presence did more for her spirits than should be proper, though she knew even that boost would eventually give way to the exhaustion that had been nipping at her heels for days.

"Thank the Maker for that, then." He rose as one of the Sisters approached them, speaking in soft undertones for a moment and then turning to her, "They'll keep Caulfield here until he is better. The other two are well enough to travel once they've gotten a bit of food and rest, though they wait for your instruction." He raised an appraising brow at her, a faint hint of that smirk of his tugging at the corner of his mouth. "What say you, wife?"

She could feel her own lips quirking up at him as she nodded, turning to the pretty red-haired Sister, "The men are free to return to their families once they are able. My only orders were to see them to safety and I'm not sure if there is anyone left to even report to."

Once the other woman was gone, Aveline carefully stood and shifted the battered shield that was still slung over her back, it and her sword being the only concessions for defense that she'd been able to keep throughout their flight. Every muscle and tendon ached, practically screamed at her in protest, but after a few brief words with the men she'd brought out of nightmares, she let Wesley lead her out of the Chantry and secure them a room at the inn.

Aveline had been a soldier or training to become one most of her life, but she'd never felt this completely tapped dry and she wondered that she even managed to make it up the stairs and into the privacy of their little room. She sank onto one of the wooden chairs, watching with tired eyes as he removed his armor, "Maker, Wesley, there has to be more survivors besides the men Loghain kept from the field. It can't just be us."

He set the last of his plate on the stand in the corner before kneeling in front of her, tugging at the encrusted heel of one of her boots, "His troops apparently passed by the day before yesterday, claiming betrayal by the Grey Wardens and on a hard march back to Denerim to bring news of King Cailan's death."

She huffed, "Is that how it's being spun? I don't claim to know the motives behind it, but the Wardens did their duty, it was Loghain who did not. They left us to the slaughter." The betrayal and the lingering fear was a bitter taste in her mouth as he worked the other boot off and she fumbled for the right words, "I thought I'd die on that field. I didn't think I-...but you're here. Now."

Wesley pulled her to her feet and into his arms, ignoring the filth to just hold her for a long moment. He pressed his forehead to hers before he finally spoke again, his voice low and thick with emotion, "The Maker answered my prayers when he guided you safely back to me, my Aveline. I would not have rested until I had found you."

She allowed him to undress her and lead her to the bath that had been brought up earlier, the hot water and steady, safe hands of her husband working away the last of the reinforcements that she'd built around herself in order to keep functioning. By the time she was finally scrubbed clean it was all she could do to stay upright long enough for him to wrap her in his spare shirt, but she reached out for him, her fingers grasping lightly at his forearm, "Thank you, Wesley, for coming after me."

He nodded with a tender smile, "Get some rest, Aveline. I'll be right here."

The darkness had enveloped her before her head even hit the pillow.

**Author's Note:**

> And now that I've hopefully made you all /sadface (what can I say, I'm a little evil like that), may I now direct you to the heartbreakingly gorgeous piece of art that I commissioned my friend, Negacrow, to do. [My Heart](http://negacrow.deviantart.com/art/My-Heart-263838989)
> 
> I got the idea for the fic first, but before I really had it worked out in my head, this mental image came and Crow somehow managed to pull it from my weak attempt at describing that moment and put it into something awesome. The rest of the fic came because of all of the feels that the draft version of the art gave me. <3 Crow!


End file.
